


Even Tony Stark Deserves Help

by overmyhead



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overmyhead/pseuds/overmyhead
Summary: Tony knows he doesn't deserve help. He doesn't.So, when he isolates himself even more from his team members, not wanting to burden them with his problems when they've got problems of their own, he's surprised to see that they still care, Steve especially.





	Even Tony Stark Deserves Help

**Author's Note:**

> Hello people! 
> 
> I had this unfinished in my Google Drive for a loooong time and I just finished it, sooooo. I thought I'd give it a go.
> 
> TW: For your own good, don't read if you're prone to panic attacks or anything like that. 
> 
> If you have any comments, complaints or suggestions please do comment, it would make my day!

_He looked down at his shaking hands. They were covered in dark red blood, Peter’s blood. As if from afar, he heard himself utter a cry. The boy lay beside him, his limbs spread out in unnatural angles. In Peter’s eyes where a lively glint had been just minutes ago was now a blank expression. He knew that he was crying, probably screaming, but at the same time, he felt like he was watching himself through a veil, numb and lifeless. It hurt. It hurt so bad to see the boy that had become like a son to him lie on the concrete, the suit torn and covered in dust, with red stains from the loss of blood, so bad that he wanted to rip his own heart out and never become whole again. It was a view he’d never forget, worse than any horror movie, worse than any of the nightmares that kept him up all night. Holding the kid in his arms, he rocketed back and forth, captured in his own thoughts, sobbing like there was no tomorrow. It felt like there wasn't._

Tony startled, his heart racing. He was covered in sweat and the sheets were spread out on the floor. It took the man a few seconds to realize that he was not in the middle of a battle anymore, that there wasn’t a corpse in his arms.

Nevertheless, he was shaking. The memory had burned its way into the depths of his brain.

Groggily, he got up. He obviously had a lot of nightmares caused by his profession and past, but they rarely had such an impact on him. It wasn’t a surprise, though. Peter Parker, the young boy from Queens that talked way too much, had snuck a way into his heart, and for the first time in years, Tony was actually kind of okay with that. It was hard not to like the boy.

He shuffled into the kitchen, took a glass out of a cupboard and filled it with water. It was early in the morning, only about four, but Tony knew that falling back asleep was impossible. The black sky outside the window front was sprinkled with stars, looking almost too peaceful. Behind him, he could hear footsteps.

When he turned away from the view, he could see Steve standing in the door frame, dressed in a plain white shirt and black joggers.

“Nightmare?” the other man asked, a knowing expression on his face. When Tony nodded, he added, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tony shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just the usual.” The soldier frowned. “Seriously, I can deal with this. It wasn’t my first nightmare, y’know,” Tony muttered.

“I know, but you really don’t look all that good,” Steve said.

“Cap, I’ll survive it. Now, if you would let me through, please?”

During their little conversation, Tony had become increasingly annoyed. He was a grown man, he could take care of himself. Yes, the nightmare had been worse than some of the others he’d had, but it wasn’t anything Tony couldn’t handle. Also, judging by a look on his tablet, Peter’s vitals were as normal as they could be. After all, Peter was probably asleep in his bed back in Queens. So, really, there was no need for worries.

Tony pushed past Steve and hurried down the open corridor to the nearest elevator. As much as he loved the compound, the distances really were too big, sometimes.

It wasn’t until he entered his workshop that he could relax. The familiar piles of technology, metal, and dirt together with the stinging smell of motor oil always made him feel at home. No person had ever been able to make him feel the way he felt about his work, perhaps because nobody really understood his connection to it, or perhaps because he never really let anybody in. Well, he had become better since the other Avengers had moved in with him. And since he’d met the boy, of course.

He worked until the sun set again, not leaving the workshop all day, and finishing an update on his suit that he had been wanting to tackle for a few days now; he just hadn’t found the time yet. Tony suppressed the memory of the dream as well as he could; it didn’t really work as well as it would normally.

Still immersed in his work, he didn’t notice FRIDAY asking for his permission to open the doors, which is why he jumped when the AI boomed, “Sir, Peter Parker wishes permission to enter the workshop.” Glaring into the air, hoping that FRIDAY would notice it, Tony answered, “Let the kid in.” Peter stepped over the threshold, chuckling. Tony sent him a glare, which made Peter cackle.

“You know, you’re like a jumpy little dog sometimes,” the young boy said with a grin. He was wearing a Midtown High sweater and his hair was as messy as always.

Tony grimaced and said, “Watch what you’re saying, kid.” He loved this, the seemingly meaningless chatter with the kid. Though, maybe it wasn’t meaningless, maybe what Tony loved so much about it made it meaningful. Not that he’d ever say that out loud.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked suddenly, causing Tony’s initially okay-ish mood to drop about a thousand levels.

He frowned sceptically. “Who told you?”

Well, at least the kid had the decency to look guilty. “Cap,” he said.

The billionaire shook his head. Apparently, privacy was an unknown concept in his house. Frustrated, Tony said, “I’m fine, kid. Don’t worry about me.”

He took his coffee mug that stood on a workbench not far away and went in the direction of the elevators. Of course, Peter followed him. Tony frowned and hissed, “Damn, kid, you’re nosy. I said I’m fine.” Said boy flinched at his sharp tone. Great, now he felt bad. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just in a really bad mood and I don’t want to yell at you. So, for your own good, could you leave it alone?”

Later that night, Tony barricaded himself in his workshop- again- with the instruction to FRIDAY not to let anybody in. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone. The harder he tried to get rid of the picture in his head that showed Peter’s bloody, lifeless body, the more vivid it became. Normally, he knew what to do; knew how to prevent the inevitable attack.

Though, not this time. Angrily, he grabbed a small pile of cable lying next to him and threw it against the wall. He felt his chest tighten with anxiety and his legs give in.

Covering his head with his arms, he crouched under the desk, desperately trying to catch his breath. Small drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and the picture he so frantically tried to forget was burned into his mind. His shaking hands cramped around his knees, fingers digging in the coarse material of his jeans.

Days later, he went upstairs to grab at least a little food only to find most of the Avengers sitting at the big table in the living room connected to the kitchen. They looked up when he entered, startled by the dark rings under his eyes. Tony ignored the anxious looks; he had not expected anyone to be present at the compound.

“Tony-,” Natasha chimed in.

The older man shook his head. “No,” he said defensively. “I’ve got work to do, and I’m just up here to grab some food.”

Tony knew that the others could help him, but in the end he just didn't think that he deserved their help. Someone who wasn't even able to care for their almost-son didn't deserve help.

So he just went straight to the kitchen, ignoring the nervous glances of his colleagues and friends and got himself some food from the full fridge. The others didn't dare to approach him as he went back downstairs.

Tony was munching on the banana when _the_ image re-appeared before his eyes. Repressing the nightmare wasn't the best idea, Tony knew that, but it had worked for years. Not now though, the Stark thought, as he spat his food out and sucked air through his nose.

“Sir, I am going to alert the Captain to come down here,” FRIDAY said suddenly, interrupting the sound of Tony's heavy breaths.

Tony shook his head and gasped, “Please don't, I got this” He didn't. He obviously didn't.

This was why FRIDAY decided to alert the Captain anyway. Steve found Tony a few minutes later as he burst through the door, face scrunched up in worry. “Tony?” he called. No answer, just heavy breathing.

He finally found Tony who was hiding under the desk and approached him cautiously. Steve was seriously wondering how many panic attacks the guy had had in the last few days and how they hadn't _fucking recognized_ the signs.

His own coping methods, though they didn't include panic attacks, were just as unhealthy sometimes, and there would be times where nothing but being unhealthy helped.

However, Steve really wanted Tony not to have to endure a panic attack over whatever was wrong, and so he crouched down to meet Tony's eyes which were dilated like deer's eyes in front of headlights.

“Stark… Tony, it's Steve. I want you to breathe with me, okay? I'm going to touch you, is that okay?”

Tony nodded shakily, his breathing still frenzied.

Steve cautiously put a hand on Tony's shoulder. Squeezing lightly, he began counting, “Okay, I'm gonna breathe in for 3 seconds, hold my breath for 3 and breathe out for 3. Can you do that?”

He started to breathe in the pattern, trying to breathe loudly in order for Tony to be able to match his breathing. He didn't know how long they did this, for minutes, hours or days, but eventually, Tony started to calm down, his breathing becoming less hectic and all over the place.

He slowly regained control over his limbs.

When Tony finally looked Steve in the eye, a flash of shame appeared on his face, which Steve recognized immediately.

“Tony, whatever is bothering you, whatever the reason for this panic attack was, and the panic attack itself is nothing to be ashamed of. All of us carry baggage and all of us have different ways to cope with it. If your way is sleep deprivation and panic attacks then that's not ideal but at the same time it's not right to be ashamed. I want to help you, I really do.”

Tony turned his eyes away. “You don't have baggage. You're the golden, all-American boy. Why would you have baggage? You're perfect,” he said shakily.

Frowning, Steve replied, “That is most certainly not true. Tony, you're not the only one struggling. If you talk to us, you'll always find someone with PTSD, or depression, or anxiety, hell, you'll find that all of us act in some kind of self-destructive behaviour. Please let us help you. I don't want to keep looking at you and see annihilation.”

Later, Steve wasn't sure how well he'd actually reached Tony, or more precisely, how serious the Stark had actually taken his words.

However, when the elevator doors to the common living room opened to release Tony into the room, Steve smiled. It was clear that all of their inner fights with demons from the past or present weren't magically solved by a few nice words, but Steve was certain that they were on a good path.


End file.
